


The Haunted Carousel

by mutemail



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Circus, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon-Typical Violence, Domestic Violence, Ghosts, Haunted Carnival, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Stalking, eddie is a roadie, its set in the future and is meant to be read as a series of flashbacks, more just talking about sexual encounters, not sure how effectively that comes through or anything, pov is absolute madness, some mild groping, waylon is in the show
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-22 21:47:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21083597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mutemail/pseuds/mutemail
Summary: Carnival-themed one off loosely based on Water For Elephants! Waylon is an acrobat and Eddie is one of the roadies that constructs the circus when they come into town. Heed the tags.





	The Haunted Carousel

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everybody long time no fic! It’s taken me forever to find my mojo again but here’s a little something I scraped up for y’all for Halloween. It’s inspired by a band piece I found when looking for songfic inspo: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cILS6OLR7LQ
> 
> Comments are adored as always!

The white-red stripes atop the machinery are dulled with a thin coat of dirt and dead leaves. A whip of wind rustles through the area, picking up a few scraps of trash that flutter a few feet then die on the undercurrent. Metal horses line the platform in neat circles with drop rod tethers to keep them in place. Each seat has flakes of paint chipping off but in the excitement of the fair no one quite cares about the little things more so than the big picture.

A stale breeze rustles the canopy again. Somewhere in the distance is a wispy figure, nearly pure white with the darkness of the forest warped through its opaque middle. It’s a disgusting thing made of hair and too-sharp claws that come from nowhere and everywhere at once.

The canopy’s shields show exquisit depictions of the usual carnival folk-- acrobats, clowns, images of snack foods, balloons, and the like-- though the dreary grey sky does little more than cast them in an unforgiving shadow, making each face droop in a sinister manner from the corner of one’s eye. Best not look too closely.

_Now tell me what someone like you is doing out here._

_ The stranger’s teeth glint in the flashing lights around them, his eyes twinkling with a dangerous sort of curiosity as Waylon screeches to a halt, panting slightly. _

_ Oh-- hey. _

_ A moment's pause as realization dawns on his face. _

_ Don’t you work on the show? I feel like I’ve seen you around before. _

_ Name’s Eddie, I work in the construction aspect. Building the place up and then tearing it down. I’ve seen you working in the big top. Real star of the show, aren’t you? _

_ It almost sounds like it should be degrading but the affectionate tone drags a flush of pink up Waylon’s neck to his cheeks. _

_ I suppose you could say that. Just makes sense seeing as how I’m the scrawniest of us that I’m the one doing the more complicated tricks.. It makes it easier should things go wrong. _

_ Well I certainly hope nothing like that would happen. _

_ Behind them the crowd roars in anticipation. The show is about to begin. Eddie comes forward to clasp a calloused hand over Waylon’s shoulder, marveling in the texture of the sparkling leotard. _

_ You’d better hurry up. Break a leg, darling _

Twigs snap underfoot the beast. It stalks the fairground without any sense of direction, nose in the air as if to sniff out prey. The ends of its fur are ratted with mud and twigs and the rusty hint of blood. Its lumbering frame never steps but seems to fall into the next space as if by pure accident, something spurring it forward each stumbling movement. Suddenly it turns towards the carousel with glossy eyes straining to see something not of this plane. Its snout twitches minutely.

_ I-I’m just saying, Eddie, maybe we should see a bit less of each other, is all. It’s nothing personal! They’re wanting to have me practice more and more a-and--. _

_ A punch lands on the wall beside him, perfectly leveled with Waylon’s face. How is it that he always found himself backed into these corners? Eddie had this terrible habit of making him feel as though he was trapped, breathing on borrowed time, and all but forcing him to burrow into someplace smaller as if to escape. _

_ You’re avoiding me again. Why must you lie to me, darling? Surely you don’t take me for a fool. _

_ Of course not, not at all. _

_ Waylon shakily reaches to smooth down the open collars of Eddie’s work shirt. The beige garment is covered in smears of dirt and yellow sweat stains from the manual labor the roadies perform on the daily. How privileged Waylon is to be a performer. Performing. He resists the urge to scrunch his nose. It’s a bit of a sore subject for much of the lot around and being called a performer can have a negative connotation to it more often than not. _

_ Liar! All you do is lie! _

At the front of the carousel, as close as one can get to the front in a circular line-up, is a beautiful white chariot covered with garlands and flowers, eternally vibrant with their glossy paint. The horse tethered to the front is crafted with a determined look on its face, a look that draws the spunkiest guests forward, a look that gives the rider a feeling of superiority and pure power. Fog rolls over the ground and nestles itself over the platform comfortably as if it’d always been there.

  
_ Don’t be ridiculous, Waylon. We’re talking about the same guy right? Listen, he’s one of my strongest men there’s no way in hell I’d be able to compensate for letting him go. I’m sorry, really. Just.. Try to use the buddy system or something. I really don’t think Eddie would hurt anyone but if you feel so strongly about it take your own precautions. End of discussion. _

The creature comes forward again towards the chariot. It is perhaps the most coveted ride on the carousel. The ride itself was somewhat small but nevertheless popular, making visitors race to the front for a shot at securing the best seat. Its eyes seem to gain clarity when glancing over the front horse, gaze lingering on the smear of blood across the face and seat. The marks look like unsteady hands, troubled hands, scared hands.

_A stream of blood gurgles up Waylon’s throat to froth past his teeth as he struggles in Eddie’s grip, one hand keeping him pressed against the wall by the neck while the other is reared back ready to hit him again. The pulsing pain in his abdomen won’t let up and he hopes dearly that Eddie hasn’t done anything too serious to him._

_ You’ve been avoiding me, I know it! There must be someone else. There must be. Why else would you be treating me like this? _

_ Eddie’s hand flexes around the pale column of flesh and his fist wobbles dangerously in the air before he wrenches his own hand into his back pocket to retrieve something that Waylon doesn’t care to think about. _

_ I should have known better than to trust an unfaithful slut like you! _

_ Something glints in the light beside him just out of direct view. Yellow and white bulbs flash from the top of the game house and expose the metal blade in its horrifying fullness. Waylon sucks in what little breath he can. _

_ I haven’t been unfaithful, I swear it. You’re scaring me. _

_ His voice wobbles involuntarily and he screws up his eyes. _

_ Don’t lie to me, Waylon! Who else has touched you like I have, huh? _

_ The hand around his throat drops to fondle Waylon’s front, fighting through the frills of his acrobat outfit from this evening’s show. Eddie squeezes his hand around him. _

_ Who else have you let touch your cunt? Filthy bitch! _

_ Nausea churns in his stomach. Oh how he hates when Eddie gets this way. Faintly he wonders if the ringmaster would believed him now should he come around the corner and see it with his own eyes. Would he accuse him of making a mountain out of a molehill now? _

_ A piercing pain startles him out of his thoughts and his eyes shoot down to his front. Eddie’s fingers, firm and unyielding, pull back the knife that’s now slick with blood before stabbing it in again only a couple inches above the first wound. Finally he’s able to move, weakly putting his own paler hand atop Eddie’s with his brows furrowed into a confused crease. _

_ Eddie? _

_ One more. I try and I try. And you all betray me. You don't even deserve to live. We could have been beautiful. _

The creature rears back its head and cries at the foggy skies. No one returns its call.


End file.
